Marija Najthefer Popov,
born in Sivac (Backa, Vojvodina, Serbia) on March 11, 1958, where she met a beautiful written word. Since 1996, she lives and creates in Zrenjanin. Until now, she has been published in more than a hundred joint, domestic and international poetry collections; published in several domestic and foreign journals; translated into several languages.
Her first solo collection of poems, “I WRITE A WOMAN,” was released in 2018. The motive behind her poetry is Rose, and Woman in all its beauty and splendor… Love is the initiator of everything!
I am writing this letter, Darling,
(which is unexpected result of some uneasiness in me,
some black foreboding. I could not resist fear and temptation…)
I hope you are well, thanks to God.
For many years, the aorta of life
poured into my heart
ink of sadness,
which hurts and lasts…
(and they say that time works wonders)
That ink overflows with strength of endurance
and was not spent on letters,
that should have arrived much earlier
as confession, plea, regret…
and smooth our misunderstandings in time…
So, year after year,
all chances were missed and heart,
heart suffered an attack!
I tried to explain to them
that it was fatigue
caused by pain, longing, sorrow because of you,
us, my Darling,
who still believes in eternal love?
…and while they were performing open heart surgery on me,
I held you firmly
so they wouldn’t accidentally
rip you out of my chest,
where you live since I know you
There you abide, rein, cause pain, suffocate…
but, it is OK!
They did bypass and regulated my blood flow
saying: only one blood cloth
but caused hundred percent blockage!
They have no idea, my Darling,
that you abide there forever.
There you swell like water
at the Djerdap,
like Fake healing crystals
which triples overnight in the water…
They don’t know, my Darling,
that you are always
blocked passage of my life
(every love boat you stop and sink…)
Darling, I wrote selfishly, so much
about me. How are you?
(I heard you waiting for heart transplant.)
To be honest, that news broke me.
I decided to write this letter to you, my Darling,
and let you know,
this morning in the transplant center
I wrote and signed:
I donate my heart to you, exclusively!
(You know, my Darling,
when they cut our breasts open
you out of mine…
and I will jump out of yours…)
Then hug me tight
and we will fly…!
The clouds are so soft!
Heaven is endless eternity!
So much for now.
Me, definitely yours!
Until our flight into eternity!
Yours forever, me!
Written: with ink from my heart-with bloody ink of my life.
On the day: quiet ordinary.
Important: the day of the meeting of the final and eternal!
Rose garden (Defloration)
I met you
in the rose garden
like a bee would
nectar and pollen powder,
I brought you
in my life and
every future breath.
My dream of you
(in sign of rose
royal, unreal beautiful
in all her splendor,)
is like a castle healed
in the rose garden,
My dream of you,
Hidden in your poem
No matter in what language you write
I understand you.
Do not hide in verses
it is not necessary.
If you write about winter I freeze.
When you write about tear
about beauty I become shy,
thank God we are alive.
Good thing we are here, even as examples.
But, when you write about love,
I plug all my senses,
I am in it,
a lot of hidden me is your poem.